


Drunk on love

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dream Sex, F/M, Foreplay, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Quest of Erebor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin’s wife tracks him down after a sexy dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk on love

Brawny, tattooed hands glided over your body, warm and strong and deliciously rough against your bare skin, and you arched into their touch, whimpering your yearning for more while your lips ravished a scarred, sinewy chest. His voice was a ragged growl in your ear as your fingernails raked his broad back and dug into the taut muscles of his bottom, urging him closer yet.

“Oh, Dwalin, yes… _please_ ,” you gasped in encouragement when his sturdy hips settled between your thighs, and he groaned and murmured his gratitude to Mahal as he slowly…

_CLANG!_

You woke with a start at the sound and sat up to find the camp beginning to stir and Bombur cheerfully unpacking his assortment of pots and pans for breakfast, waving a wooden spoon in your direction in apologetic greeting. 

Sighing heavily, you flopped back onto your bedroll, frowning at the already vacated heap of blankets beside you before closing your eyes again, all the vivid, tingling sensation of your dream flooding back to you. Your body was aflame with desire and Dwalin was nowhere to be seen, and you squirmed uncomfortably for a few torturous moments before deciding to get up in earnest.

After running a brush through your hair and stealing a splash of water from Bombur’s jug for your face, you found your brother-in-law standing at the edge of the camp, surveying the sky and making predictions to Ori about the day’s weather.

“G’morning, Balin.”

“And a fine morning to you, lassie,” Balin smiled kindly. “Sleep well?”

“Very well indeed,” you answered, trying to remain nonchalant despite your humming nerves and flushed cheeks. “Have you seen Dwalin?”

“Aye, he’s gone to scout for wildlife,” he gestured toward the surrounding trees. “With any luck, the lads will shoot us a nice, fat turkey for supper tonight.”

“Let us hope,” you smiled, turning your own predatory gaze in the direction where Balin had pointed. “Thank you, Balin.”

* * *

Your stomach fluttered with anticipation when you stumbled across your husband at last, walking through a small clearing in the trees. He hadn’t bothered to properly dress for the day in tunic and overcoat, and the bulging of his massive chest and shoulders beneath his undershirt, the rolling of the muscles in his forearms as he casually twirled an ax, nearly made your mouth water.

Dwalin barely had time to form a smile of greeting before you launched yourself at him, nearly climbing his body in your eagerness to capture his lips with a scorching, demanding kiss. Your hands pawed at his braces, slipping them from his shoulders to hang loose at his waist, and you’d just gone to work on the laces of his trousers when a firm grip clasped each of your shoulders, detaching you from him.

His eyes were wide and wondering as he pulled back to look at you. “Mahal’s beard, woman, what’s gotten into you?”

“Well, nothing yet,” you answered cheekily, running your fingers over the swells of his chest. “I was hoping it would be you.”

He gave a short bark of a laugh. **“Are you drunk?”** His tone was teasing,but there was a telltale darkening of his eyes that sent a sweet, sharp pang of desire though your body. **  
**

“At this hour?” With a grin, you moved closer again, taking advantage of his loosened grasp to burrow under his beard, placing teasing bites over the warm skin of his neck and reveling in the quickening of his breathing as his hands slid to your back. “I was dreaming about you, just before I woke up.”

“What sort of dream?” Dwalin’s voice had gone husky, and you returned to pressing kisses to his lips, growing in insistence.

“A very pleasant one,” you murmured against his mouth, while your fingers nimbly finished undoing his laces, exposing him to your caresses. “The sort where you were going to take me with all of your strength…just like I need you to do now.”

A low groan rumbled through his throat, and his hands clutched your back convulsively. “What, right here?” 

It was but a token protest and you both knew it, and with one more fierce kiss, Dwalin’s restraint snapped. He hiked up your skirts, reaching underneath them to cup your backside with his large hands, lifting you effortlessly into his arms with your legs wound about his waist, and while you tore feverishly at the buttons of his undershirt, he swiftly lowered you both to the soft, green turf.

* * *

The ground was dappled with the sunlight that filtered through the leafy canopy above you, and you closed your eyes in contentment, still lying on Dwalin’s chest, trailing your fingertips through its coarse, dark hair. His hands drifted lazily back and forth over your back, and when you lifted your head to look at him, he wore a fond, satisfied grin that soon spread to your own face.

“You should have dreams more often,” he purred, and you giggled, snuggling into his chest again. 

“I quite agree.”

After a few more silent moments, he spoke up more reluctantly. “We should be getting back to camp.”

You sighed, draping your arm over his shoulder. **“I don’t want to get up – you’re too comfy.”**

He chuckled. “Would you rather Balin or Thorin came looking for us?”

“Point taken,” you grimaced, dragging yourself to a sitting position and running your hands over your dress’s bodice to smooth it while Dwalin buttoned his rumpled shirt and secured his laces again. 

Dwalin took your hand to help you to your feet, smirking as he picked a crushed leaf from your hair. His arm slipped around your waist, drawing you close to him, and he pressed his lips affectionately to yours. “You’re a fine lass, and I’m a lucky man,” he grinned.

“It’s me who’s the lucky one,” you insisted, adding mischievously, “and not just because you’re a magnificent roll in the hay.”

He laughed heartily, taking your hand in his. “ _Ghivâshel_ , my magnificence is yours for the taking, anytime you like.”


End file.
